Not That Different
by Mia-Teresa-Davenport
Summary: "What are you in here for?" He motions to the room around us. "I'm in here because I hurt someone I love." "...Princess, maybe you and I aren't that different from each other after all." /Or/ they both are in a mental asyulm as roommates, & he realizes they aren't different from each other & they're more than friends too. [OOC/AU, MentallyInsane!Chia, part of my MI series]
1. New Room and A New Roommate

Not That Different.

Summary: "What are you in here for?" He motions the room around us. "I'm in here because I hurt someone I love." "...Princess, maybe you and I aren't that different from each other after all." /Or/ they both are in a mental asylum as roommates, and he realizes they aren't that different from each other & they're more than friends too. [OOC/AU, Mentally!InsaneChia, Twoshot, part of my MI series]

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><p><strong>Mia-Teresa-Davenport: Hey there, guys! Happy kind-of-late-okay-let-me-be-honest-it-is-I'm-really-sorry-about-that Halloween! I'm sorry I didn't post anything Halloween related yesterday, but I was busy and stuff, and my mom took away my IPad for a while until about nine thirty five PM, so I could not write anything for a day and a half, which sucked, big time. And it also takes takes me a few days to write a Oneshot, so there is that too. (But now it's a Twoshot instead of a Oneshot.) But oh well, there is not a lot I can do about that now. But uh, welcome to a brand new MentallyInsane! story and a new Subject!Mia story called "Not That Different." And yes, my dear readers, this is also a MentallyInsane!Chia story, but this time, Chase isn't visiting Mia, and Mia isn't visiting Chase. Yep, that's right, you all heard me. Both Mia <em>and<em> Chase are mentally insane in this story, as implied in the summary.**

**This story is OOC and AU, like all of my MentallyInsane!series is. ****If you haven't read anything from there yet, please go on right ahead, or you'll be confused. You'll also be so lost that a pack of trained hounds and policemen, even the National Guard, won't be able to find you. Ever. Does that tell you something?**

**Also, on a very important note: I HAVE MADE CHASE SIXTEEN YEARS OLD IN THIS STORY, AND HE IS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD IN _ALL_ OF MY STORIES. Please don't whine about that in the review section. I am very aware he's fifteen in the TV show and stuff, (I honestly don't believe that Chase is fifteen years old anymore, like Adam and Bree are still seventeen years old- Adam- and sixteen years old- Bree,) but I've made him sixteen in ALL of my stories, unless stated otherwise in these Author's Notes. Thank you.**

**By the way, I am splitting this story into two parts. I think it was too long as a Oneshot, so I'm splitting it into two parts.**

**Okay, now that stuff is out of the way, who wants to do the disclaimer for Not That Different?**

**Chase: "I will. Okay, guys, here is the deal. If you haven't noticed, Mia-Teresa-Davenport doesn't own anything from the TV show Lab Rats that you recognize, like Adam or Bree or Mr. Davenport or Leo or I. She only owns Mia, her OCs, and whatever else you don't recognize. This story is part of the Mentally!Insane series as well. I hope you all enjoy 'Not That Different'!"**

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><p>"Get up, Mia." Says a pleasant female voice. Rich and soft, like chocolate.<p>

I haven't had chocolate in six and a half months, unless you count a brownie and pudding. I haven't had real chocolate in six and a half months. Since I admitted myself in here. Since I snapped and went crazy. When I snapped. When I went off my rocker. Whatever you want to call it. Whatever you want to call it, it was when I reached my mental limit.

My sky blue eyes open to see a Helper- an _attendant_, excuse me- standing over me, looming over my small white bed, looking down at me with her bright green eyes. My light golden blonde hair is spread out on my pillow like a spider web, messily, and I blink away sleep from my eyes a bit more.

"What is…" Through the haze of having just being woken up, rudely, I might add, I can see that a fresh pair of white clothes is laying on the chair that is no longer pushed up against the desk, but it's facing me, off to my right from where I lay, "what is going on?" I ask, my voice still thick with sleep, my mind still a little bit hazy.

"Good news." She says, smiling down at me. "You're being relocated."

"Re…" I pause, "relocated?" I frown as I fling the covers off of my body and roll over so I'm sitting up instead of laying down, planting my feet onto the floor, my white socks pressing against the clod smooth floor of my room.

"Yes, relocated." The lady nods, and I look at her name tag. Her name is Anya. She doesn't look that much older than me, maybe around twenty two, somewhere around that age. She has jet black hair and green eyes, forest green eyes. Her eyes are pretty.

"It's to say 'congratulations!' on your excellent behavior." The lady, Anya, pats my cheek, and I move away slightly on instinct. I hadn't expected her to pat my cheek like that. No one really does touch me. "Get dressed, please. You're moving into room 14B with another patient. You have five minutes to get dressed, use the bathroom, do whatever you have to do, then we're off."

"We're off see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz." I say automatically, and Anya smiles a bit at that.

"Just please get dressed, Mia." She says, still smiling, then walks out the door. I can hear Anya chuckling through the door.

I numbly get dressed, surprise still running throughout my veins. I'm being relocated to a bigger room? With another patient? That doesn't happen often. It's very, very rare.

I fix my blonde hair in the small hand held mirror that's sitting on the desk, sweeping my hair to one side, leaving the left side of my neck exposed. I grab the white brush and begin to brush my hair until it's silky smooth, but wavy, my natural hair style. Wavy.

Four minutes later, I walk out of the room, and Anya looks over at me.

"Ready?" She asks, and I nod.

"Yes. I am." I begin to walk down the hall, and when I don't hear Anya moving behind me, I frown and turn back to her. "Are you coming, Anya?" I ask her gently.

Anya nods and runs her hand through her hair. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm coming."

Anya and I walk along the long white hallway, passing multiple doors in the process. 27A. 19C. 17D. Anya and I make small talk along the way to the room 14B, and a few doors later, we stand at 14B. My new room.

"Mia," I turn to the sound of my voice and I see Anya looking at me.

"Yes?" I ask, sweeping a long lock of blonde hair behind my ear again.

"I'll see you later, okay?" She smiles a bit at me.

I can't help it. I smile back at Anya. "Okay."

Anya reaches down to a loop on her pants and pulls out her keycard, tapping in a code on the left side of 14B and swiping her keycard, and then the light flashes green, signaling authorization. I can enter the room now.

"Goodbye, Mia." Anya says, smiling a bit more.

"Goodbye, Anya." I echo, and she pats my cheek again, stares at me for half a minute, and then she walks away, down the hall before she disappears around a corner.

I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves that seem to bounce around inside me, and open the door to 14B.

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><p>I frown slightly as I step inside the room, my sky blue eyes taking in the appearance of the room that is now mine. Okay, I'll confess something. The Wardens told me that I got moved here a day ago, but I hadn't officially moved in yet, until now. I wanted to stay in my room one more day, and they let me do just that.<p>

I look around at the still same, blindingly white room. All of the rooms are painted a blindingly bright white. While the floors are bare, cold cement floors. No color. At all. Not here. Here, colors don't matter.

I drink the information, the entire room with my eyes, taking in every detail that I can, and my blue eyes scan the room.

This room that is now mine- I say "mine" loosely, because there's another person in this room, my _roommate_- a little bit bigger than I had expected it to be; but well, considering the fact that I had gotten moved up for my "excellent behavior" as The Help and the Wardens and the Masked Ones- AKA the attendants that help us, the Wardens who make sure that we're behaving correctly and who act like the police in the Mission Creek Sanatarium.

The Masked Ones are the doctors/nurses. They got that name because the doctors wear those weird looking masks over their mouths and the nurses are just normal-looking. But still, we call the nurses the Masked Ones because we can. And by we, I mean everyone who is in this depressing place.

The patients.

The attendants- or The Help, as we all like to call them- are like our… um, servants, in a way. They deliver us our medicine that we're all required to take, they give us our food, give us extra blankets and pillows, anything else we want. They assist us with anything we need, and they are all really nice to us, so we all like them. In addition to the rooms, there is a red room, where the people- warm, the Ments, as I heard a few Wardens call them (which makes me sick to my stomach,)- can go to relax.

The Ments are us. The mentally unstable people. _Us_.

Sometimes I just want to slap a few of the Wardens, but I'd go under twenty-four security for assaulting someone.

This isn't just a Sanatarium. It's a crazy place. It's also a cold, dark, depressing prison.

Prison for the mentally insane.

The people that work here said to me that I was acting better, so as a reward, they gave me a bigger room. And also a new roommate. A new roommate that is probably going to be a permanent roommate.

According to my intuition, from what _I_ believe, the Wardens trust me enough to have a roommate too, so they threw some poor something year old boy who "lived" alone in his "room", all by himself, like me. We lived alone in two separate rooms, but now the boy and I are living together.

Oh, and also, apparently the boy had "excellent behavior" like me as well, so they decided to give him a roommate too, a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, _me_.

The walls still white and bare, the same locked window, the same white desk, the same light sitting on the desk, the pens in a cup and a pad of white lined note paper. The same small white bed.

_I really, really hate the beds._ I think bitterly.

Usually, there is one room for each patient which consists of the aforementioned items in the room, but that's different now. Now, there is another white desk, another white chair with the pad of paper and the pens in a cup. Another white bed. The beds are across from each other, perpendicular to each other. Orderly. Neat. Clean cut, whatever you want to call this room. It's an upgrade from the pervious one I was used to living in, that's for sure.

When I was in my other room, I was completely alone. Isolated. It was very lonely in my room, because I was all by myself.

But now, I am not alone anymore. There is a boy sitting in the chair, writing something down with a pen, the pen gliding across the paper elegantly. The boy has spiky light brown hair and hazel eyes, and he looks around my age. I can't see what the boy is writing down on the paper, but it seems to make him happy. Or as close to happiness you can get when your under lock and key, when your as crazy as Caitlin.

Is it weird that I'm still shocked that Caitlin isn't in this place too? The world is a messed up place. She should be in here too, but she isn't. Oh well. Nothing I can do about that now. I can't exactly waltz out of here and grab Caitlin and walk back here. I'd probably be under watch twenty-four-seven and unable to leave my room.

The boy with his runs his hand through his hair and stands up, the chair scrapping slightly against the cold cement floor, making me wince at the noise. It seems too loud against the silence.

The boy settles down onto his bed, and for the first time, he notices me, standing there awkwardly at the entrance to the room The boy stares at me, sitting on the small white bed that we're given once we're in here, in this place, in the Sanatarium- in Hell- his hazel eyes hard and flickering with multiple emotions that I can identify, some I can't. Confusion. Curiosity. The brokenness I see in other people, and most of all, what I feel inside myself.

But then a few seconds later, his face morphs into the emotion of curiosity, pure, unbridled curiosity. His hazel eyes scan me, look into my eyes, seemingly staring into my soul, as if he's looking deep inside of my soul to learn something- _anything_- bad about me. Well, since I'm in Hell right now, I kind of think that's enough.

I feel like melting into the floor and waiting for the workers- the Wardens, as we all, the "patients" like to call them- to clean up the pool of Mia that I know I'll be left in. Under his gaze that never leaves my blue eyes, I feel kind of- no, scratch _kind of_- _really_ uncomfortable. Yeah. That's better. Really, really uncomfortable.

"Uh," I clear my throat slightly because it feels too dry suddenly, "I'm… I'm Mia. Mia Alison Comenzo." I offer the boy my full name, breaking off the silence that had seemed suffocating to the both of us equally.

"Well, hello there, Mia Alison Comenzo." The boy says, nodding his head politely at me. "My name is Chase Jonathan Davenport, but you can just call me Chase," The boy- no, not just simply "the boy" anymore, _Chase, _his name is_ Chase_- says, his voice oddly low but silky smooth, like velvet. Something that shouldn't be here in this depressing place. It feels wrong. A small sarcastic smile flickers on his face. That shouldn't be here, either. The smile, not the sarcasm. The smile. It's too odd, too out of place here. He shouldn't be smiling here. "And welcome, Mimi, back into Hell. Enjoy your stay here, Mimi." He's still smiling sarcastically.

I nod, biting my bottom lip, deciding to choose to ignore the nickname he just gave me in the literally five seconds we have know each other. "Thanks, I guess." I say, unsure how to answer properly. I try not to melt under his gaze again.

He smiles, for real this time. His smile is nice. Now that he is not smiling that sarcastic smile anymore, which I feel just a tiny bit grateful for. The cracks of his full lips stretch over his teeth, revealing his still surprisingly white teeth. "You, Mimi, are _so_ very welcome." He stands up, walks back over to the desk, grabs a pen from the cup and slides into the white chair, and begins to write something down again.

Now I _do_ wince at the nickname, and even with his back still turned to me, I can hear that Chase is chuckling a bit.

After a few seconds of writing whatever he's writing right now, he sets the pen down on the paper, and I frown, wondering what he'll do now.

Chase grabs the back of the chair and lifts it a few centimeters off of the ground, setting it back down and Chase sits down in it, his back no longer turned to me. He stares at me intently, his hazel eyes burning with playfulness. I frown at that, the playfulness in his eyes. After all, I did just meet Chase, but I feel like we're going to become friends, and fast.

And I honestly can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"So, Mia," Chase says, reaching over and picking up the pen, clicking the back of it so the tip goes in its placeholder. He sighs and caps the pen again, leisurely, very slowly, putting the pen back into the cup and standing up again, "I am very glad you could join me."

"Well, it's not like I have a choice." I reply calmly, something that surprises me; the calmness of my voice, "I mean," I say again after a few seconds of silence from Chase, whose waiting for a clear answer, "It's not like I can exactly walk out of this room and demand a new room or a roommate. Can't walk out of the entrance to the Sanatarium, either."

"No," Chase chuckles, shaking his head slightly as if to agree with me, "you can't do that."

He and I both know that we can't do that. That no one can do that. The Wardens would probably have us isolated in a small jail-cell- excuse me, _room_. Room, not jail-cell. Yeah. There we go. That's better.

Oh, yeah. No it's not. Oops.

"I can't do that." I say to him, agreeing with him with a simple nod of my head. "That'd be really, really, really bad for me."

Chase smiles a bit again. "You want to know something, Mimi?" He asks me suddenly.

"Sure." I say easily, and I once again ignore the nickname. I quickly tuck a strand of fallen blonde hair behind my ear, and it curls slightly. "Go ahead, Chase." I spread my hands in front of me in a calm gesture. "Lay it on me."

"I think…" he pauses for a few seconds as if he's pulling words out of thin air instead of from his head, "that you, Mia Alison Comenzo, and I," he motions to us with a wave of his hand, a small smile on his lips, "are going to become fast friends."

"My thoughts exactly, Chase Jonathan Davenport." I say back, smiling, and he smiles back wider and warmly at me.

After a few seconds, Chase stares at me, and I stare back at him as I sit down on the small white bed. Our eyes lock with each other and we stay focused on each other instead of anything around us.

"So, Mia, how old are you?" He asks casually, leaning up against his pillow, fixing his hair so it's spiky.

He breaks the eye contact to look down at the items in his hands. His pencil and the notepad are both clasped firmly in his hands, and he's still writing something, but once again, I can't tell what he's writing. If he's even writing anything at all. I don't know what he's doing, but it seems to make him kind of happy, calm.

"I'm sixteen years old." I reply, running my hand through my hair. "What about you?"

He nods at me. "I'm sixteen years old as well." He pauses, and a smile forms on his lips. His pencil stops moving for a few seconds, "We're the same age." He resumes writing on the paper, not saying anything else.

I roll my eyes, chucking slightly. "No, really, Chase? I _never_ would have guessed that."

"Shut up." He mutters after a few seconds, but he is smiling. He turns his attention away from me and runs his hand through his hair.

He looks down at the pad of paper in his hands and goes back to writing, staring intently down at the paper, the pencil gliding elegantly along the paper. I don't say anything back, I just watch him, curiosity swimming inside my veins. I want to speak up again, but I don't know what to say. I want to know what he's doing, but I decide not to disturb him. So I stay silent and more and more curiosity swims inside my veins, piling up inside me. I want to blurt out the question, but I decide not to.

So instead I stay silent.

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><p>A few minutes later, there is a knock on the door, the sound of an attendant's keycard swiping along the transmitter, a flash of white and a beep, and a swell of bright green light in the hallway, the green light seeping under the door.<p>

"It's lunchtime, Mia and Chase." Says a women from The Help pleasantly, wheeling in a light brown cart with two light blue containers on it, with a pair of black utensils on the side of each container.

I take in the appearance of the women. The women is a jolly, plump women with rosy cheeks and a big, full smile. The lady has black hair with just a few hairs of gray scattered almost haphazardly in her still pretty black hair, indicating that she's been at her job for far too long, but still, she seems nice. Not like any other workers here. Most of the workers here are quite the characters, that's for sure.

None of The Help are cranky or flat out rude to us; rude at all, even, and they aren't annoying either, which I take as a good thing. I like it. It's the Wardens that are the cranky, rude, annoying ones. Most of the Wardens are mean and old, too.

The Wardens are the ones I like to avoid at all possible costs. I'm sure Chase doesn't like the Wardens either, just like everyone else. The patients here in the Mission Creek Sanatarium don't like the Wardens, if you haven't picked that up yet.

I don't know about Chase, but I would rather not get in trouble and then sent back to my old room, that's for sure. I don't want to be completely alone anymore.

"Hey, Opal," Chase says, smiling a bit at the women when she looks off at the sound her name, waiting for his question or his answer, waiting for him to say something to her. "Thanks for the food." Chase, I notice, seems to like her. Opal must be Chase's main Helper, and since I'm rooming with Chase now, I guess Opal is my Helper too now.

Opal smiles, and the room seems to lighten up a bit. "No problem, Chase." She hands him one of the two bowls and one of the black utensils, and then hands me the other.

"Thank you, Opal." I say to Opal, smiling a little bit as I open up the container, peering at what's inside. Chicken, corn, green beans and a handful pecans and peanuts, carrots in maple syrup, a brownie with multicolored sprinkles, and pudding with whipped cream. A small carton of white, two percent milk accompany's the dish as well, along with a straw for the milk. I begin picking at the pecans and corn, feeling myself getting a little bit fuller from the food that is now in my stomach. I guess I didn't really notice how hungry I was because I was distracted by Chase- by my new room.

Opal nods as a kind _you're welcome_ gesture and I put a piece of chicken in my mouth, chewing it but not really tasting it. It tastes like cardboard with minimal seasoning. Bland. Gross.

"I will be back in a few minutes to collect your containers if you're done with them, guys. I'll see you two later." She says, grabbing the handles of the cart and wheeling it around, and she shoots us once last smile before she leaves, shutting the door behind her, leaving Chase and I alone in our room.

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><p>"Hey Mia, can I ask you something?" Chase asks me. I look up from my lap and nod.<p>

"Sure. What's up?" I ask him.

"…What are you in here for?" He motions the room around us. "I don't think you would be in this place. You seem so nice."

I pause, not expecting the question to come up, to be that forthright. I quickly search through my brain for a plausible answer, _something_.

"I'm in here because I hurt someone I love." I admit after a few seconds of thinking it over, and Chase takes a deep breath, nodding his head in understanding.

"...Princess, maybe you and I aren't that different from each other after all."

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><p>I stare at Chase, whose still writing furiously on the paper after I count to ten minutes in my head. "Hey Chase," I say, and he doesn't look up from his work, but he gives a slight nod of his head, indicating a <em>go <em>_on _gesture_. _"What are you writing?"

He looks up at me, his hazel eyes sparkling with an emotion I can't identify very well.

"Oh. Yeah. That. I'm not _writing_ anything, Mimi." He says as the black inked pen resumes its mark to move across the paper, with the same elegance and grace as I've seen before, two times. "I'm _drawing_."

"Oh." I say, then sit at the edge of my bed. "What are you drawing?"

He smiles, but he still doesn't look up. "What I'm drawing, it is a secret that only I know, Princess Mimi." He says mysteriously, then falls silent.

The pen resumes to glide across the page elegantly.

"Okay, Chase Davenport." I say after a few minutes, feeling a bit angry and annoyed now with the lack of answers. "What are you drawing?"

Chase smiles and places the pen down. "I've just finished it literally two seconds ago." I hear the proudness in his voice, and it makes me smile a bit.

"Do you want to show me?" I ask.

He nods and then throws the pen back into the cup of the desk. "Yeah." He turns the pad of paper around to reveal a beautiful, life like portrait of me.

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><p><strong>Mia-Teresa-Davenport: Okay, so after mulling it over for a while, I thought that was a good place to stop. I have a lot more ideas for Not That Different, so I hope you all enjoyed the first part of Not That Different! I'll see you all later with the next chapter of Not That Different!<strong>


	2. Of Our Families And Memories

**Mia-Teresa-Davenport: Hey there, guys! Here is chapter two of Not That Different! I'm so sorry for not updating sooner, it's just that I've been busy with school and stuff, and I had a hard time planning out this chapter, and then I had a small case of writers block for this story for about a day or two. But I'm back now, and that's all that matters for right now.**

**Thank you all for the feedback, the reviews and the follows and the favorites! I wasn't too sure if you guys would like the first chapter or this story _at all_, but thank you so much for making me see differently. :) You guys inspire me to write faster, so thank you!**

**By the way, Mia's point of view will always, _always_ be in first person, as will Chase. Chase's POV will be in first person point of view as well. But for Adam, Bree, Addy, Marcus, Leo, Douglas, Mr. Davenport, etc, will be in third person point of view. So Chia has first person point of view and the rest of the characters have third person.**

**This chapters name is called "Of Our Families And Memories". This is slightly filler, but I want you guys to get a background of MentallyInsane!Chia. This chapter is just Mia and Chase talking about their family members.**

**The next chapter title's name will _possibly_- it's not final yet, I'm still deciding- be called "Visit Us In Hell, Darling." I think it's pretty self explanatory, in my opinion. After this chapter, the next few chapters will be when the rest of the YoursSeries!Characters are visiting MentallyInsane!Chia in the Sanatarium. Each character will have a different part (i.e. how Adam will have part one of the "Visit Us In Hell, Darling" chapters.) ****They might not go in order, like I won't write Adam visiting in part one, and Bree visiting in part two. I might make another chapter in between each visit. But I'm not too sure about that right now. There will be more details about that later. I'm a bit hazy on the details right now.**

**I also have really good news: Not That Different won't be a Twoshot like I had originally planned. Instead, Not That Different will be an entire story filled with MentallyInsane!Chia moments, as well as some Bradam and some Marcy (Marc**/us** and **Add/**y) as well. So yay for that! Here is the next chapter of Not That Different, but first it's shoutout/reply time!**

**Replies/Shout-outs:**

**AllAmericanSlurp: Thank you for the review, and here is the next update of Not That Different! :3**

**Rissa15: Thank you!**

**PolarWolf13: Thank you!**

**Adam, can you do the disclaimer?**

**Adam: "Sure thing. Okay, here is the deal. Mia-Teresa-Davenport doesn't own anything from Lab Rats you recognize. Just Mia, Addy, and this plot. Nothing else belongs to her, except her OCS and the like. I- we- hope you guys enjoy chapter two of Not That Different!"**

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><p>"The drawing… It's so beautiful, Chase." I manage breathe out after a minute of staring at the picture, my eyes growing a little bit more wider at the picture of me, greedily taking up every speck of detail I possibly can.<p>

I stare at the drawing with wide eyes, looking at the many different features Chase gave me in the drawing. One of the first things I see in the drawing is a dazzling smile with perfectly straight white teeth, a pair of happy, warm, radiant sky blue eyes, my (in real life,) waist length, light golden blonde hair is in perfect waves cascading down my shoulders and stopping at my chest, and my eyes trail down the paper to see that my hair stops at the very edge of the paper in pretty waves, and my eyes trail back up the paper too see that a few strands of my hair are framing my face perfectly, innocently. The detail of my face is amazing, stunning. The pretty arc of my eyebrows, the curve of my pink lips lifted up into a bright smile, my teeth bright and perfect.

I kind of can't believe he made this. It's so pretty.

Chase smiles proudly, his hazel eyes reflecting in the light. "Thank you, Mia."

"I never would have guessed you were an artist, Chase." I admit shyly, pushing my hair back from my face.

Chase nods nonchalantly, but I can see that he is proud of his accomplishment of making me stunned. I can see that because his hazel eyes shine with pride. "It just kind of came to me one day," he pauses for a few seconds as if searching for the right word, "drawing." He adds as an afterthought.

"When did it start?" I ask, cocking my head to the side, feeling myself wanting to know more and more about him.

Chase shrugs. "Honestly, I'm not too sure. I just got really into drawing a few days ago. And then it blossomed into this," he motions to the picture of me in his hand, and I nod.

We lapse into comfortable silence, and my eyes roam along the paper, still desperately trying to catch every detail I possibly can.

I smile at him. "Chase, the drawing…" I pause, then look over at him with earnest sky blue eyes, "it's very beautiful. We've only been roommates for a few hours, but I feel like…" I trail off, unsure of what else to say.

Chase grins back, understanding what I mean. "I know, Princess, I know." He smiles. "You're welcome." He stands up and walks over to my small white bed, and then hands me the drawing with careful hands, as if it were a baby, and I look down at it and smile at it before looking up at him, smiling even brighter than ever before.

Chase walks back over to his bed and sits down, and we smile at each other again.

We lapse into comfortable silence again, and I realize that neither of us haven't said a word to each other for a long time, but I don't think words are needed.

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><p><strong><em>Chase's Point Of View<em>**

I watch Mia silently, and I beam with pride as her blue eyes scan the paper, watching her smile light up the room as well as my heart. I feel like the pressure, the weight, what I've been carrying for far too long, longer than I should have, lifts off of my shoulders as I see her eyes light up, see her smile. It makes me happy.

"What were you going to say?" I ask her after a few minutes of peaceful silence. "What did you feel like?"

"I…" She shrugs, unable to think of anything. "I don't know. I… I felt happy." She pauses, struggling with to come up with right words.

"A lot happier than you've been in a long time?" I ask her gently, and she nods.

"Yeah." She murmurs, more to herself than to me. "A lot happier than I've been in a very, very long time."

I feel my lips turn upward into another smile, something that is so rare it hurts my face a little bit. I'm not used to smiling so much, especially now, and it hurts like someone poured scalding hot water on my face.

Smiling hurts a lot, to say the least.

But I feel myself feel lighter, happier for the first time in a long time.

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><p>I sigh quietly to myself and stare at her, and Mia stares back at me. Unmoving, save for breathing and blinking.<p>

Neither of us say anything to each other for a long, long time

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><p>"How long have you been in here, Chase?" Mia asks me suddenly, running her fingers through her long blonde hair.<p>

Mia and I have been roommates for a little over a month now, but we still don't know that much about each other. I feel an odd sense of irony course through my veins. I want to know everything I can about her, and I can tell that she wants to know everything she possibly can about me, but we still don't know that much about each other, even after we've been stuck together like glue- _inseparable_- for a long time now.

"What month and day is it?" I retaliate, cocking my head to the side, throwing in a questioning glance because I can.

"It's April 23rd, 2015." She replies smoothly, calmly. Almost too calm. Too calm for someone whose been in Hell for this long.

"Okay, then. Eight and a half months." I say automatically. "I admitted myself here in Hell on…" I pause to think because it seems like so long ago, "…August 4th."

I blink in shock at the news that I should have known, but didn't. I've been in here for eight and a half months and nineteen days? It seems like a lot longer than that. I've been here a long, long time.

"What about you?" I ask her, a few seconds later after I've gotten over my initial shock. "How long have you been in here for, Princess?"

She winces at the nickname, but answers my question anyway: "Only six and a half months."

"_Only_ six and a half months?" I ask, slightly angry. But not at her. At the loneliness that creeps up into my veins and expands to my stomach, leaving a hard ball of loneliness and pain and anger behind. A bitter taste forms in my mouth, and I try to swallow it down, but it causes am ever bitter lump to form in my throat. "Mia, if you thought _you_ were lonely, I've got another thing coming to you, Princess."

Mia winces again, but not at the nickname. She had winced at the "lonely" part. "It's because I am." She says calmly. Again. Too calm.

I frown, instantly feeling like a giant freaking jerk. "You mean that-"

Mia nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah. No one has visited me for a long time." She doesn't say anything else or elaborate, so I ask, "What about your parents?"

Mia sighs and looks down at her hands, twisting her hands together. She doesn't meet my eyes. She speaks to her hands and to the crisp, blinding white sheets on her small white bed. "My parents are dead."

I feel guilty- and still feel like a giant jerk for asking about her family members, but I force it back as best I can. Instead I ask her, "how?"

I watch her reaction carefully. Mia bites her lip and narrows her eyes a little bit at me. "If you don't mind me asking." I correct myself quickly when I see the pissed off expression in her sky blue eyes.

"There was a fire." She takes a deep breath, and the breath exhales shakily. "It engulfed the house in seconds. There was nothing left of the house I lived in. Nothing. My sisters-"

"You have sisters?" I interrupt, blinking two times in shock. Mia hadn't mentioned anything about her family. Despite the fact that we met a little over a month ago, she hadn't breathed a word to me about her family.

"Yes. Bree Rose Comenzo and Addy Mae Comenzo." She says calmly, which irks me slightly. Mia seems too calm for someone whose went crazy. I suddenly want to know the _real_ reason why she's in here.

But I want to accept that she's in here because she hurt someone she loved. I want to. I do, I really, really do, but I want to know more.

Wait a minute. _Addy_.

"A-Addy?" I physically recoil, my body jerking back against the metal bars on my small white bed, my face pale, my eyes dilating a bit. I have to clench my hands together to stop that God-awful shaking in my hands. The tremors that have randomly ripped through my veins. My fingertips shake

That name. _Addy._ It too much like Adam. Too much.

Mia nods, but doesn't say anything about me moving away. She must have thought it was a twitch. Something a stereotypical crazy person would do.

"Addison." She says carefully, her eyes wary.

"Why…" I take a deep breath, try to bring down the shaking in my hands and the confusion pumping through my bloodstream at a quick pace. "Why did you…" I pause again, forcing myself to collect my scattered thoughts. "Why did you call your sister Addy instead of Addison?"

Mia shrugs, looking down again, not meeting my eyes. She begins to run her hand along the white sheets of her bed, still not bothering to meet my eyes directly. "We've… We have always called her Addy. Bree's real name is Breeanna, but we've always called her Bree. Bree is seventeen years old, Addy is seventeen years old, and I'm sixteen years old."

"How-" I begin to ask, and Mia sighs, cutting my question off. "Addy, Bree and I weren't born normally. We were created- born, whatever- in Petri dishes at the same time, but Bree was the first to develop into an actual human and move around; live. Breathe. Then Addy was born, then I was."

_Just like Adam, Marcus and I._ I think, feeling shock work its way into my chest.

We lapse into silence for a minute and a half, but then Mia speaks up again.

"What about you?" She asks me. "Do you have any siblings?"

"I have four. Four siblings." I hold up four fingers for emphasis.

She cocks her head, frowning a little bit. "Four?"

I nod. "Yeah. I'm the third baby out of the four."

"What are their names?" She asks, her sky blue eyes curious.

Curiosity killed the cat.

"Adam is the oldest." I say calmly. "He's seventeen years old. Seventeen years, five months and six days year old. Marcus is a few months younger than Adam is. Marcus is sixteen and a half years old. Sixteen years, two months, and eleven days year old. Leo…" I trail off to take a breath, to let her process all of this information.

"Okay, that's three." She says. She absorbed the information a lot faster than I thought she would. "What about the other one?"

"Leo," I prompt her gently.

"Leo." She agrees in an equally gentle voice. "What about Leo?"

"Leo is my step brother." I explain, raking my fingers through my spiky brown hair. "He's fifteen years old. Fifteen years, three months, and twenty seven days."

I feel proud that I remember exactly how old my siblings are.

"The baby," Mia says with a small smile.

"The baby." I agree.

"Who're your parents?" She asks after a few heartbeats of silence.

"I have an adoptive uncle whose like my father. He took us away from our real father when Adam, Marcus and I were just babies." I explain, remembering Mr. Davenport. "My real father is Mr. Davenport's brother. His name is Douglas."

"What about your mom?" She asks me.

I shrug. "We… We're not sure about our real mother. It was a secret that only Douglas and Mr. Daven-" I stop abruptly, putting a mental block on my head and the words that want to come out. But I stopped myself just in time.

I was about to say Mr. Davenport, but I'm pretty sure that would sound weird to her, me calling my quota quote "father" Mr. Davenport. So I decide to call Mr. Davenport "dad" instead, despite how very, very weird it is for me.

"It was a secret only dad-" _Does my face give anything away? Anything away that screams that Mr. Davenport isn't my real father?_ I ask myself. _I hope like crazy- sorry, bad pun- not. "-_and Douglas-" I feel really, really, really freaking weird for saying that; saying that Mr. Davenport is my father when he's really not. In reality, he is my uncle but he sure as heck feels like my father, "-knew. We've never asked him about it. Even if we did, I don't think they'd reveal anything about it. Not even a whisper. Just pure nothing from both of them."

Well, at least _that_ part is true. Adam, Marcus and I have asked who our mother is about three times each, Adam three times, Marcus three times, and myself three times, asking about who our mother is, where we came from.

And nine times Mr. Davenport and Douglas tried (and nine times they succeeded) in changing the subject.

On a lesser note, the whole episode with Douglas telling Adam, Marcus and I that he was our real father makes my head hurt. It still does, even to this very day. It hurts.

I… I still kind of can't believe that Mr. Davenport- the man I had trusted since I was born, the man I _still_ trust- lied to Adam, Marcus and I for all of those years, manipulating- well, not exactly _manipulating_, more like lying to our faces for more than sixteen years, in those sixteen years I've been alive, the seventeen years that Adam and sixteen-and-a-half Marcus have been alive for, me only being sixteen years old- _tricking_ us to believe that he was our real father.

Thinking about our messed up family too much really makes my head spin and occasionally hurt like someone is pounding a jackhammer into my ear. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, the first thought in my head is if _I wonder Douglas is real or not_, if everything that happened was just one long dream; a dream that I couldn't wake up from no matter what I did. Sometimes I still wonder if he is real. Sometimes I wonder if I just imagined the whole entire thing.

Sometimes I wonder why Mr. Davenport lied to Adam, Marcus and I.

_Oh,_ I think sourly, _but Douglas is very, very real. He's not someone I could just imagine, just conjure up in a instant._

Yep. Douglas is one hundred percent real.

I pause for a few seconds, deciding to talk about Tasha instead of Mr. Davenport and Douglas. I don't want to this about them right now. Not in this very moment. Not now.

"But I do have a step mother." I smile now, "She's Leo's mom. Her name is Tasha, and she's the sweetest person in the whole wide world."

"What about your father?" She asks, cocking her head to the left lightly, her elbows resting on her thighs.

I feel a small, almost nonexistent smile slip onto my lips, even though I don't want to smile. I might break my face if I smile. "Dad?"- _Again with that freaking word_- "Oh, he's egotistical. Big ego. Maybe you've heard of him. His name is Donald Davenport."

Mia's eyes grow wide. "Donald Davenport? The worldwide, famous, _celebrity_ tech-mogul?"

I nod. "Yep. That's the one. The one and only Donald Davenport."

"Wow." Mia breathes, obviously a little bit in shock.

"What about your parents?" I ask, deciding to switch topics, get the attention to her instead of on me. I don't like it. I used to, but not in here. Not in the Sanatarium, not in Hell. "What were your parents names?"

"My dad was named after John the Great, one of those kings from Portugal a long time ago." She says, but doesn't elaborate more on his name. "My mother's name was Vanessa." She says simply.

"And what were they like?" I ask.

Mia smiles, staring off into space a little bit. Her eyes don't fix on me directly, but I don't mind that. "My parents… They were amazing. The best people in the world. They were very kind, very smart, and so very, very proud of me- of _us_…" She trails off, and tears swell up in her sky blue eyes.

I don't know how to comfort her, so I decide to sit on my small white bed and stay silent. But I still stare at her.

I don't press her for more information about anything. Not her parents, not her parents death, not her sisters, not what her life was like before she admitted herself into this God-forsaken Sanatarium. I don't press her for information about anything. None at all. Because I honestly don't want to or feel like I need to.

Mia's broken silence is enough.


	3. Interlocking Fingers

**Mia-Teresa-Davenport: Hey there, guys! I'm back with chapter three of Not That Different! This is slightly filler, and maybe just a little bit boring, but I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Thanks to all of my silent readers, my reviewers, the people who have decided to click this story in the first place. Seriously. Thank you guys so much. And this is probably the worst chapter I've written in a long, long time, so I apologize in advance for the horrible, badly written chapter. Now, let's get to the chapter! …But first, it's reply time! :3**

**PolarWolf13/PolarWolf14: Thank you! And that's okay, I knew who you were. You didn't have to type it again. :3. And also, don't worry about wondering why Chia's in there, because it will be explained in later chapters. Thanks for the review.**

**AllAmericanSlurp: Thank you so much for the kind review, Slurp! :3 It literally made me grin for five minutes straight during school. My face hurt even after I stopped smiling, but that's okay. I was happy. And yes, by the way, Not That Different will be a full story instead of a twoshot like I had originally planned. So look forward to that! :3. Thank you for the review!**

**Thank you guys so much for the reviews! :)**

**Mia, can you do the disclaimer?**

**Mia: "Sure thing. Okay, here is the deal. ****Mia-Teresa-Davenport doesn't own anything ****from the TV show Lab Rats ****you recognize, like Chase or Adam or Marcus. She only owns me, Mia Alison Comenzo, and my sister, Addy Mae Comenzo, ****Mia-Teresa-Davenport also owns this plot, and anything else you don't recognize. Again: Nothing else belongs to her from the show, except her OCS and the like. I- _we_- hope you guys enjoy chapter three of Not That Different!"**

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><p><strong><em>Mia's Point Of View<em>**

I sigh, unable to keep silent anymore. Just sitting here, staying silent, had begun to drove me crazy for the past five minutes.

Oh wait a minute. Sorry, _crazier_ than I already am. My bad.

I run my hand through my long blonde hair irritably, sighing heavily and for a few seconds, catching Chase's attention.

"I'm extremely bored," I say to my roommate, and Chase arches his eyebrow, his hazel eyes sparking with both confusion and amusement.

"Uh, I could tell by the way you were sighing. By the way, I hope that you do realize there's not much I can do about that, Princess Mia. Can't exactly help you with your issue of boredom."

I huff at that, crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance. I pause for a few seconds before finally asking: "Can we go to the rec-room?"

Chase frowns and motions to the door with a jerk of his head. "How do you know the Wardens or The Help would let us out?"

I raise my eyebrow at him, my lips quirking into a small smirk. "Dearest Chase Jonathan Davenport," he frowns at that slightly, and my smirk grows wider, "I hope _you_ do realize that we, as patients, can go to the rec-room without The Help following our every step of have the Wardens breathing down The Ments/our necks twenty four seven, all day, every day."

Chase rolls his eyes at that.

I grow serious now, and the mood in the room changes dramatically. From light and happy to serious in just a few split seconds.

"Besides," I say after a few seconds, "it is not like we're escaping from the Sanatarium in the middle of the night." I sigh very heavily, letting all of the breath leave my lungs before I suck in three more gulps of semi-stereo air. "Not like Piper Alexandria Jackson did a few months ago."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. But I do that can't anymore. Guilt swells up inside me and freezes, which leaves a cold ball of guilt swimming painfully in my stomach.

Chase grimaces. "That was when we were both in here," is the only thing he says.

I wince again at the fact, feeling like someone just flipped me onto my back. All the air leaves my lungs for a few seconds, but I take a deep breath. I mange to find my voice after a few seconds of desperately seeking air. "Yeah, that was when we were both in here, Chase." I agree quietly.

Chase nods grimly. "Yeah. That was, Princess."

Piper Alexandria Marian was- yes, _was, _not is_- _a girl whose went crazy after seeing her twin sister Octavia Kaya Jackson, her little brother, Carter William Jackson, and her parents, Franklin Joshua Jackson and Dahlia Carrie Jackson, all die in a fiery explosion about four and a half years ago on a warm, seemingly normal day with a pretty clear sky.

The explosion happened on the sunny day on May seventeenth, two-thousand-and-eleven, at exactly three-fourty-five in the evening. The explosion was devastating to Mission Creek. The aftermath was shocking. There was a body count prior to the Government's orders, to count up the losses. America waited with its breath held as the results were reported and distributed to every news station in America, some going international, to Europe and some parts of Australia.

After the results were tallied up, it was discovered that over two hundred and fifty nine people had died in the single blast _alone_; without the debris raining down on hundreds of innocent people. About one hundred and twenty five people died from debris hurling at them with blinding speeds alone. So that's over three hundred people already.

But unfortunately, the results kept pouring in, and those results were even grimmer than the body count of the dead. The blast left a lot more- and when I say a lot I mean _a lot- _than a hundred people wounded- about three hundred and forty eight people were wounded. Innocent people. Innocent, innocent women, innocent elderly people, and even innocent children. The _elderly_, innocent little c_hildren_.

The thought makes my stomach churn painfully, and my heart twist up in my chest.

Some people still haven't recovered from the blast. More than half of people that were injured in that blast still have physical injuries that haven't healed, like torn limbs, missing arms, a missing leg, nasty concussions, etc. Some people went insane, which landed them in here, in the psych-ward, in the Sanatarium, in this place we call Hell.

So two hundred and fifty nine people were killed instantly that day. Plus the one hundred and twenty five people that had survived the blast but later died from their injuries. Plus the three hundred and forty eight people that got injured and survived the blast.

So that's seven hundred and twenty four people dead or injured in less than minute, in just a couple of seconds.

_Seven hundred and twenty four people_.

The blast also crumbled a ton of buildings; the blast completely obliterated most of them in the process, in the few seconds it happened, then was over. It felt like dream or a movie that got worse and worse as time went on. Debris rained down and onto the streets of Mission Creek California, killing and injuring a ton of people in the process. Other things were tossed and ripped to shreds, like cars and trees. The blast tore up the pavement like it was paper, shattered buildings and caused glass to break from the sheer force of the blast, as well as the noise. The blast sent burning debris raining down on hundreds of innocent people, injuring and killing them before you could blink or scream in horror or _run, run, run_. There were hundreds of people laying in the street, dead or dying or seriously injured.

The blast caused Mission Creek over six million dollars in repairs and damages, both physical damages from either people or the buildings, some for the people that went insane. Like Piper Alexandria Jackson.

Chase sighs, running his fingers up and down the sheets of his bed, visibly swallowing. "So many innocent people…" He breaks off, unable to continue any further.

I grimace, attempting to swallow. My throat went dry after I had mentioned Piper Alexandria Marian, my tongue went sandpaper dry and rough. My eyes fill with tears that I don't want Chase to see. Not now, not ever.

"Can we please not talk about this anymore?" I ask, my voice surprisingly hoarse. "I feel like I'm going to throw up."

And that's true, too. I force myself to push down bile that rises up in my throat, to try and stop the tears that sure going to start running down my face if we keep talking about this, about what happened on that day, on May 17th, 2011.

He nods, a guilty look crossing over his face. "Sure, Mia. We can stop talking about it now." For the first time I notice that Chase looks queasy as I do. He holds his stomach, his eyes glassy with tears that haven't been shed yet.

I nod numbly, and before I know it we slide in the peaceful silence yet again.

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><p>A few minutes later after we've slipped into the peaceful silence, there is a knock on the door. Then, there is that sound of an attendant's keycard swiping along the transmitter again, that same flash of white and that same beep, and that same swell of bright green light in the hallway. Chase and I watch as the green light begins sliding under the door and stretches towards us like bright green fingers.<p>

I frown, alarm creeping into my veins. "What's going on, Chase?" I ask, my voice full of wariness and worry.

Chase doesn't turn to look at me. His eyes stay fixated on the green light. "It's okay, Mia. Don't worry. The Help is here to grant us access to the rec-room."

I nod, feeling the tension release from my body. I smile a little bit. "Good. I can't stay in here anymore."

Chase doesn't say anything, but he gives a slight incline of his head, indicting that he heard me. The fact that he's so intensely focused on the green light and not anything else makes me worry a bit.

I frown. "Chase, are you okay?"

Chase nods. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm fine now."

The door swings open to reveal a person from The Help. The lady has light blonde hair and emerald green eyes.

"You wanted to go down to the rec-room?" She asks, and Chase and I look at each other and nod.

"Yes, please." I say politely to the lady, shuffling out of my bed and sweeping a lock of blonde hair behind my ear.

Chase jumps down from his bed, looking over at me.

"You ready?" I ask him.

He nods, and he does something unexpected, something that I hadn't expected to do in a million years. He reaches for my hand. His fingers interlock with mine, which sends a bolt of electricity and heat through my veins, making my head swim with haziness, with just a hint of confusion. What is he doing?

He nods. "Now I am, Mia."

I smile, despite the fact that I'm confused. Why did he hold my hand? I want to ask him, but the only thing I find myself saying is: "That's good, Chase. Come on. Let's go."

Chase smiles at me, and we walk out of the room, still holding hands.


End file.
